river of blood
by sunflowersleep
Summary: 48 years, 48 rivers of innocent blood. syot. form on my profile.


**Daphne Alcroft, Capitol Citizen (21 y.o.)**

I ride my bicycle down the narrow alley I always use as a shortcut. The decorative lanterns of the Reaping's Eve celebration light my path in a haze of red and yellow. This is a bad part of town, so I've seen, and I pedal fast enough for the muscles in my thighs to burn. The air smells like cheap beer and the cigarette smoke makes it difficult to see. An old man standing at a corner leers at me and I avert my gaze towards the cobblestone street. I pass what seems like dozens of worn-down apartments with laundry and exotic plants hanging from the windows. The address numbers decrease from four digits to three, three to two, and then I reach the middle of the Capitol, and with this newfound safety the tension in my shoulders decreases.

As part of the Capitol's middle class, I make a good living by doing odd jobs for the elite, most often political figures and socialites. Usually they disregard me as a maid and I'm okay with that. I spent most of Reaping's Eve delivering party invitations for the President's spoiled-as-hell daughter Carlotta. As I've learned over the years of her basically using me as a therapist and a mailwoman, most of her friends live in sprawling estates near the border, which is a good two hours' bike ride, so she only gets to see them on special occasions. And while she could easily message virtual invitations to them, she insists on all her letters being delivered the old-fashioned way. So that's where I get about a solid fourth of my paycheck.

The main street of the Capitol is a festival of lights this time of year. Fireworks of every color in the rainbow explode in the sky, and windows are lit up with parties. Last year, when the Victor of the 47th Hunger Games was announced, a drunk teenage boy by the name of Seneca Crane nearly set the President's home on fire out of excitement. I can't imagine how that specific breed of Capitolites will react in a couple of years when the Quarter Quell comes around. Of course, Carlotta will probably throw more parties and I'll deliver more invitations.

I tie up my bike right by the door to my apartment and take out my phone while balancing my bag on my hip to dial Carlotta's number. It rings three times until she picks up.

"Daphne!" She squeals. The noise in the background nearly overtakes her voice. "Oh my god, how are you?"

"I'm fine. I delivered all your invitations for the Games-viewing party."

"Aw, thank you!" She laughs. "You're the best. Bye!"

She hangs up in a rush and I stare at my phone for a few moments, then I snap out of it. That's when the fireworks halt and the streets quiet down as the seal of Panem appears on the numerous giant televisions lining the square. After a few seconds it fades to footage of President Snow. He faces the camera from an upward angle, as if he's talking to a tiny person sitting on his desk. His face takes up the majority of each screen, which confuses me because if I looked like him, I would go into hiding.

"Citizens of the Capitol," He says in his raspy voice that almost sounds like he's gasping for air, "As you all know, tomorrow morning the Reapings will begin, broadcast on live television accessible from your homes. Twenty-four tributes from the twelve districts will be selected to participate in the 48th Hunger Games. Enjoy your cele-"

The largest screen, placed in front of Snow's mansion, glitches, cracks, and goes dark. Murmurs erupt throughout the crowds on the streets, then I hear a scream.

"No more Games!" A man holding a brick shouts. He chucks it at the television and it leaves a second crack resembling lightning against a clear sky. I stare in shock I don't even have time to comprehend as a group of dozens of people in black masks march forward. As they pass me I see that there are men and women of all ages, even a few children, marching among them. A nearby Peacekeeper mutters into his walkie-talkie and points his gun at the protesters.

"Hands in the air! All of you!" He shouts, but they jeer and continue walking. They're fifty feet ahead of me when more Peacekeepers arrive, surrounding them. They shove their way past and move closer to the Capitol. I'm frozen in place. I want to run up to safety, to get away from this, but I feel like my legs are glued to the ground.

Then a Peacekeeper fires, and a man on the edge of the group falls, blood pooling around his head. An icy fist grips my heart. Nausea overtakes me and I immediately taste bile in my mouth. How could they-

The protestors charge upon Snow's mansion, shouting with the force of a thousand. I watch, transfixed, disgusted but I can't look away. The Peacekeepers open fire and they begin to collapse to the ground, forming a river of blood on the roads, once so untarnished. The survivors press forward despite their dwindling numbers, until the lifeless bodies on the ground outnumber them. My heart leaps out of my chest and I find myself unable to take a full breath. I watch the chaos like a tourist at a zoo.

"That's for those kids!" The man who threw the brick earlier screams, and I watch as he throws a torch at Snow's garden. The rest begin to chant.

"One thousand eighty-one! One thousand eighty-one! One thousand eighty-one! One thousand eighty-one! One thousand eighty-one!"

One thousand eighty-one. Forty-seven Games, twenty-three dead in each. One thousand eighty-one. I watch in horror as a Peacekeeper tosses a grenade into the crowd and I open my mouth to scream even though they could never hear me.

The street lights up in a flash of fire and smoke, and no protestors remain. I tremble. I've witnessed acts of radicalism before, but nothing like this. It's always teenagers with posters or a hippie tying herself to the square. Nothing like this. Nobody ever dies.

A truck arrives to scoop up the bodies and the noises of celebration continue, albeit turning more nuanced. The world moves and I stand perfectly still for what seems like hours, then I climb to my apartment.

 **A/N: I'm writing a SYOT! Rules and tribute form are on my profile!**


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